


The One with the Soft Sweater

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title explains it all, really. Just Clint and Phil and a soft sweater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the Soft Sweater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infiniteeight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/gifts).



There’s a cold snap overnight, the temperature dropping ten degrees lower than expected. Phil wakes up spooned tight to Clint, who is on his right side and has his covers half kicked off. “How are you not freezing?” Phil mutters against his shoulder.

“Not that cold in here,” Clint replies.

Phil hugs Clint once, then rolls over and gets out of the bed. The hardwood floor of the bedroom is a cold shock to Phil’s system. He grits his teeth and checks the thermostat. “It’s 52 degrees in here,” he says as he clicks the heat on and steps into the hallway where there’s carpet. 

“Like I said,” Clint says with a yawn, “not that cold.”

“Ass,” Phil mutters. He steps into the bathroom and starts the shower running good and hot. When he gets out, the bathroom is completely steamed over, and Clint’s left a cup of coffee on the counter as a peace offering. Phil shaves and brushes his teeth before the steam dissipates and takes a sip of his coffee as he walks back to the bedroom and figures out what to wear. 

“It’s twenty-two outside,” Clint calls to him as he walks down the hall to the bathroom. “Did you leave me any hot water?”

“Three drops, I think,” Phil replies. He opens his closet and surveys his wardrobe. He has a selection of winter weight suits, but he’s not in the mood to shiver through his shirt as soon as they step outside and the wind hits him. He pulls out a pair of wool slacks, an undershirt, and wool socks, and after a moment’s thought, he picks out a button front shirt and reaches to the top shelf where his sweaters are stored.

“Mmm,” Clint says as he walks into the bedroom, towel around his hips. “You look warm,” he murmurs as he wraps his arm around Phil’s middle and tugs at his bathrobe belt. “Room in there for one more?”

Phil chuckles and turns his head so Clint can kiss his cheek. “Not right now, but ask me after work,” he says.

Clint kisses him again, noses the collar of Phil’s bathrobe, and then pulls away to get dressed himself. Phil slides his underwear and slacks on before taking off his bathrobe to pull on his undershirt. He grunts from the effort, and Clint steps over to pull the shirt all the way down for him. “Easy,” Clint says, palm covering Phil’s scar. 

“I’m fine,” Phil grouses. 

“The doctors said it was gonna keep hurting for awhile even with everything healed up,” Clint reminds him. He takes the button front shirt from Phil’s hands and holds it out. “Don’t glare. It’s too fucking early.”

Phil sighs and drops his head and lets Clint help him into the shirt. “Sorry,” he says. “It just sneaks up on me, and I feel like it’s never going to stop hurting.”

“I know.” Clint holds out the sweater, bunched up in his hands so Phil can just sticks his arms out and Clint can slide it over his head. “But until it does stop hurting, let me help, okay?”

“Okay,” Phil agrees, and Clint pulls the sweater over his head. 

“When’d you get this one?” Clint asks, smoothing the sweater over Phil’s chest and tracing the cable designs with his fingers. “It’s soft.”

“I think it was a Secret Santa gift or something. I don’t remember.”

“I like it.”

Phil grabs Clint’s hands before they can trace down to the bottom hem just above his groin. “Apparently.”

Clint grins and moves his hands back up to safer territory. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” Phil says. He steps back and grabs his coffee, smacks Clint on the ass as he walks around him and says, “Hurry it up. I’ve got a nine o’clock meeting.”

“Bossy,” Clint mutters, and Phil grins into his coffee as he takes the final drink.

*

It’s a quiet day. Phil spends most of it doing paperwork and checking in on ops and going to meetings. He runs into Clint in the hallway a half-dozen times, and each time, Clint finds a reason to touch his sweater.

“You have a problem,” Phil tells him the fourth time they see each other and Clint tucks his fingers into Phil’s cuff.

“It’s soft,” Clint says like that explains everything. 

“Don’t you have after-actions to file?” Phil asks.

“Did that before lunch,” Clint replies. “I’m waiting for Hill to come out of a meeting so I can go into a meeting.”

“Well, go wait by her office then and quit feeling me up.”

“The romance is gone,” Clint sighs with great drama.

“Bullshit,” Phil replies, and he smiles when Clint laughs.

At home that night, after he’s changed from his slacks to his pajama pants, Phil walks into the living room and holds out his arms. “This is me requesting help so I don’t hurt myself,” he says. 

Clint kisses him before getting his sweater off, then his button front, then his undershirt. “Put the sweater back on,” Clint says.

“I have a perfectly good ratty T-shirt and a robe,” Phil replies.

“I know, but I’ve wanted to rub my face in this sweater all day, and now I can.”

Phil shakes his head but holds out his arms so Clint can put the sweater back on him. “You are ridiculous.”

Clint actually does rub his face against the sweater, then he pulls Phil to the couch and pushes him down to sit before curling up next to him and pressing his forehead to Phil’s shoulder. “Yeah, but you love me,” he says.

“Yeah, I do.”

Clint worms his hands under the sweater and adjusts himself so he’s even closer. “There,” he says. “Perfect.”

“But how will we eat?” Phil asks.

“I already called out for pizza.”

“Hrm, guess it is pretty perfect then,” Phil says, and they sit like that, wrapped around each other, Phil’s sweater keeping him only half as warm as Clint’s body heat until dinner arrives.

**Author's Note:**

> Self-betaed, so do not fear pointing out typos I may have missed.


End file.
